


Lunch for Three

by citrinesunset



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Elizabeth decide to have a picnic. Neal tags along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunch for Three

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 24 hours for [](http://run-the-con.livejournal.com/profile)[**run_the_con**](http://run-the-con.livejournal.com/). The prompt, by [](http://ivorysilk.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ivorysilk.livejournal.com/)**ivorysilk** , was "blankets." I'm picturing this fic set in late season one or early season two.

Peter had run out to the car to get his phone, and when he returned, Neal was stretched out on the picnic blanket. He'd tipped the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes from the sun. He was propped up on one elbow and had his ankles crossed, showing off his anklet.

He was talking to Elizabeth, who sat cross-legged beside him. Neal was running his finger along the stitching on the old quilt she'd brought as a picnic blanket.

As Peter joined them, he said, "Did I miss anything?"

"Neal was just telling me about how to forge a quilt," Elizabeth said.

"A _quilt_?"

Neal shrugged. "Quilts, blankets....Theoretically speaking, of course."

Peter sat down next to Elizabeth and reached for the picnic basket. "I've gotta hear this...."

A couple hours ago, Elizabeth called him and asked if he'd be up for a picnic in Central Park for lunch. Peter had already made plans to have lunch with Neal, and Elizabeth's solution was to simply bring Neal along.

The three of them must have looked strange on the worn-out blanket. Peter and Neal were wearing suits, and Elizabeth had on a dress and boots. But Peter had learned the hard way that when he and El made plans, they were bound to be interrupted. Another couple might have found it stressful, but they'd learned to work with spontaneity. Dragging Neal along on what was supposed to be an intimate lunch was certainly spontaneous.

"Well, obviously," Neal said, "you have stuff like your knock-off designer clothes. I guess you could call those forgeries if you wanted. But I was telling Elizabeth about forging old or rare textiles. For example, say you wanted people to think you had a blanket that was on George and Martha Washington's bed."

"Theoretically," Peter said.

"Well, theoretically, you'd have to age the fabric, or find cloth from the right period. Now, for the late eighteenth century, you don't need to worry too much about patterned fabrics or bright dyes, so getting the color right is fairly easy. And of course, you need to know how to sew or quilt."

"And you know how to quilt?"

"Eh, I wouldn't say it's my forte. But Mozzie's good at it."

"Of course Mozzie knows how to quilt...."

Peter shook his head and unpacked the picnic basket. Elizabeth had packed sandwiches for each of them, along with bottled water and fruit. Neal grabbed an apple and took a bite.

After they ate their sandwiches, Neal lay back on the blanket holding the core of his apple between his thumb and forefinger. Peter stretched out his legs and wrapped an arm around Elizabeth. He snuck a peek at his phone and put it on silent. He had a half hour left on his lunch break, and it would have to take a true emergency to force him back to work early.

He squeezed Elizabeth's shoulder and looked down at Neal. It was funny. It used to be that he'd never consider letting Neal tag along on a day like today.

But he and El had a lot of nice lunches by themselves and Neal...well, somehow Neal had gone from being a useful but maddening burden to a friend. A maddening friend, but a friend nonetheless.

"So," Peter said, looking down at Neal, "how much can you get for a blanket that was on George Washington's bed?"

"I thought we were speaking theoretically," Neal said brightly.

"Humor me."

"More than you'd expect, actually." He pulled a handful of grapes out of the picnic basket and popped them in his mouth one by one.

Neal had already eaten most of the grapes. Elizabeth pulled the rest of the bunch out by the stem. There were only a few lonely grapes hanging on.

"Here," she said, "why don't you finish these up?"

"I couldn't," Neal said, holding up a hand. "You guys can have them."

"Oh, no, I insist."

"See?" Peter said. "She insists."

Neal grinned and took the grapes from Elizabeth. "Well, you know I can never say no to you...."

Peter smiled and shook his head. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet early-autumn air. If someone had told him a couple years ago that he'd go out to lunch with his wife and let Neal Caffrey tag along to steal their fruit and lecture them about fake quilts, he would have thought they were crazy.

But a lot could change in a couple years.  



End file.
